The Girl from Somewhere Else
by Claeri
Summary: Dami is the daughter of a wizard diplomat, and has lived overseas her entire life. However, once Voldemort comes out into the open, her family must move back to London--which means Dami begins at Hogwarts in Harry, Ron and Hermione's sixth year.
1. A Beginning, Again

_A/N: So, this will hopefully be pretty loyal to the books... basically, I've stuck my character, Dami, into Hogwarts during the trio's sixth year, and we'll see where it goes from there. I'm not promising that the events in the book won't change because of her, though.  
_

_I don't own Harry Potter, though it would be so totally cool if I did. _

_I have no idea how often I'll be able to update, and this is just on a whim, but I hope it's decent. _

_I live off reviews. :]_

**Chapter 1: A Beginning Again**

Dami hated being the new kid.

Unfortunately for her, she'd been the new kid more than a few times in her life. It wasn't her fault—it wasn't anybody's fault, really, except maybe the Ministry's. Her father was head of the Department of International Wizarding Relations, and that meant that Dami had spent her childhood and adolescence in eleven different countries.

It was alright when she was a child. As a small, dirty, auburn haired girl, she'd viewed the whole thing as an adventure. The wizard diplomats loved her, and she was always given preferential treatment. However, once she'd hit school age, the trouble set in. It wasn't that she was a bad kid—she wasn't—it was just that Dami never had any friends her own age, and suddenly getting thrown into a wizarding school in Greece filled with other magical children her own age, she didn't know how to act.

And then, the fact that they kept moving didn't help anything.

With the Ministry's recent admittance that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named actually was alive again, Dami's father was summoned back to London, and—for the first time in her life—Dami would living in the country of her birth. She'd heard lots about Hogwarts; both her parents attended the school, and always talked of it ever so fondly.

Still, that did not help the fact that Dami hated being the new kid.

September 1st rolled around all too quickly. Dami's parents excitedly showed her the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, reminiscing about their wonderful school days, giggling like the young students they once were. Dami rolled her eyes, and pushed her trolley ahead of her. It was loaded with her trunk, rucksack, and bird cage—which held a magnificent, brilliantly white cockatoo with a shocking yellow crest. Her name was Queenie, and she was a ninth birthday gift for Dami while the family was living in Australia. The large, intelligent bird was Dami's closest friend, and had stuck by her for over seven years.

Queenie chuckled softly at the steaming scarlet engine in front of them, and called throatily, "Dami! Dami!" The girl stuck her fingers—painted dark purple—through the bars of the cage, and scratched her bird's neck.

"Shush, girl, s'okay. I'll let you out when we get on the train, alright?" One thing Dami loved about her bird was, not only her letter carrying abilities, but also her skill with human speech. Dami had coached Queenie on words, and they could carry on small conversations.

Dami's parents approached her from behind, squeezing her shoulders.

"Well, darling, are you all set?"

"Ready to go, Dami?"

She shrugged out from her parents' loving hands.

"Yeah, I'm good," She turned, giving them each a quick peck on the cheek, "I'll see you at Christmas, right?"

"That's it," murmured her mother.

"And Dami, be careful, alright? These are dangerous times, you know better than most. I don't want to hear anything about you pulling off dangerous stunts and such."

"Yes, Dad," she grinned, slightly sheepishly, remembering her knack for getting into trouble. Behind her, the train let out a low, mournful whistle.

"I'm off!" Her parents helped her lift her trunk and Queenie's cage onto the train.

"Have a good term, darling!"

"Write us!"

Dami smiled at them until the train rounded a corner, and they were gone from sight. Slowly, she bent down, grabbed Queenie's cage, and began to drag her trunk down the corridor. Nearly to the end of the train, she found an empty compartment. She closed the door, lifted her trunk onto the luggage rack, and opened Queenie's cage.

The majestic white bird stretched her long wings and settled happily on Dami's arm. She tugged affectionately at the girl's hair, before settling down.

Dami stared out the window at the English countryside. She had no expectations for Hogwarts. She was more concerned with what was going on in the government than in school. Though her parents attempted to keep the information from her, she had grown adept at eavesdropping, and often listened as her parents held frantic, worried arguments about the progress of the war.

Dami's father always stuck by the Ministry, despite it's ineptitudes at times. Though he'd suspected that Dumbledore was telling the truth about You Know Who, he'd kept quiet, believing that keeping his job was the most important thing in times like these. Dami's mother, on the other hand, primarily concerned for her family, tried to convince her husband to break off from the Ministry. Once You Know Who was out in the open, she was convinced he would target important ministry workers first.

Dami was interrupted from her reverie by a knock on the compartment door. She looked up, to see a brown haired girl looking in at her. She smiled. Dami pulled open the door.

"Hi!" said the girl, entering the compartment. She was followed by a red haired boy. They both wore prefects' badges. "My name's Hermione Granger," continued the girl, "And this is Ron Weasley. We're prefects, we're in your year, and we're supposed to help you get settled and aquatinted with school. Can we sit down?" Without waiting for an answer, the two dropped down into seats opposite Dami.

"We don't get transfers often at Hogwarts, you know," said Ron, "but for the most part, everyone's nice enough. We'll help you get the hang of things."

"Your name's Damina, right?" asked Hermione.

"Damina Dietrich, yeah, but please, call me Dami."

"Dami, right," she said, smiling, "So, is this your first time in England?"

"Well, actually," replied Dami, preparing herself for a lengthy description of her entire life history, "I was born here, in London actually, but I've moved around my entire life."

The two appeared interested, so Dami proceeded:

"I grew up mainly in Russia and Thailand, but we spent a year in Peru as well. Then, when I was nearly nine, we moved to Australia. We moved to Greece right before I started school, when I was eleven, and then to Italy partway through my second year. We only stayed there for a short while, though, before going to Bulgaria, then Finland. In my fourth year, we moved twice, first to Turkey, then to the United States. We stayed in the States up until a few weeks ago, when we moved back to London."

"Wow," breathed Hermione, "How fascinating," she turned to Ron, "Imagine getting to live in so many places! Imagine all the history and cultures and everything!"

"Oh, lay off, Hermione. Will you stop thinking about school related things for just two seconds?"

She glowered at him, and Dami laughed.

"Well, we'll be seeing you, Dami," Ron said, getting to his feet and stretching luxuriously, "We've got to be off and patrol the corridors."

"But we'll meet you later, alright?" Hermione assured quickly, "To show you around and everything. Have a good trip!"

Dami waved them from the compartment, laughing silently about what a odd pair they made.

"Do you think Hogwarts will be that bad?" She asked Queenie, who whistled throatily, "Yeah, I didn't think so."

Dami glanced out the window, at the mist curling around the trees as the train whizzed by.

"Then again, it really isn't Hogwarts I'm worried about."


	2. A Twisted Beginning

_A/N: Thanks to the few of you who reviewed. Much appreciated. Here's chapter two :]_

_Remember... I don't own Harry Potter._

_And, reviews are my sustenance. _

**Chapter 2: A Twisted Beginning**

True to their word, Ron and Hermione showed up by Dami's side as she stepped down from the train. Despite her lack of expectations—or maybe because of it—she couldn't help letting loose an "Oh!" of surprise at the majesty of the castle in the distance.

Ron grinned satisfactorily, "Never fails to impress, Hogwarts. Come on, let's get a carriage!"

As Ron led them away from the train, Dami noticed the others who had joined their group. A pretty, red headed girl, a gangly, awkward looking boy, a girl with long, bedraggled blonde locks, and a boy that Dami instantly recognized.

The group trudged up a lane in Ron's wake towards a line of carriages pulled by thestrals. Demi—who had always had a fondness for animals—reached out and trailed her fingers along the silky neck of one they passed.

"I didn't know they had thestrals in Britain," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. The blonde girl glanced at her.

"Yes, of course. Thestrals are universal. They're highly adaptable, and will thrive where ever they are brought," she smiled at Dami, a dreamy smile. Dami smiled back.

They reached an empty carriage, and climbed inside. Once they were all settled and the carriage had started forward with a lurch, the introductions began.

"Hi!" said the red haired girl, brightly, "I'm Ginny Weasley. I think you already met this git, who happens to be my brother," she laughed. Ron punched her arm.

"Shut it, Ginny," he muttered. She laughed again.

"And I'm Luna," cut in the blonde girl, who'd spoken with Dami earlier, "Luna Lovegood. It's a pleasure to meet you," she smiled that dreamy smile again.

"Neville Longbottom," pronounced the slightly pudgy, awkward looking boy. He grinned sheepishly at Dami. She grinned back, and then looked around, trying to fill the slightly uncomfortable silence, but thinking of nothing to say.

"Have you see where Harry's got to?" Dami heard Hermione ask Ron.

"No," he replied, "I hope he's not doing something stupid..." The two glanced back at the train.

The carriage ride was mostly filled with Ginny and Ron's chattering—and bickering. Dami sat with her head craned back, eyes wide in appreciation of the glorious castle they approached. Finally, with another lurch, the carriage stopped, and the seven stumbled out into the mud. They followed the crowd as it made its way up the steep lawn to the castle doors. As they passed through the imposing front doors, a sharp, strict voice called out,

"Damina Dietrich? A word, if you please."

Dami turned, saying, from habit, "Dami, if you don't mind," and came face to face with a rather formidable looking witch, holding a roster.

"Here, come quickly dear, too my office. I must be quick, as the first years are due to arrive at any second," she led the way down corridors and up staircases, in a dizzying maze. All at once, Dami greatly appreciated Ron and Hermione's offers to show her around—Hogwarts was huge.

At last, they reached an office. The witch held the door open for Dami, and then followed her quickly.

"Sit down, sit down, please," she ordered, and Dami sat, "I am Professor McGonagall; I'm deputy head mistress at Hogwarts, as well as Head of Gryffindor House. Now, dear, you must be sorted. I don't know if you already know about—"

"Sorting, yes," cut in Dami, "My parents told me."

"Yes, of course, your parents," murmured the witch, "Well, if you will just stay perfectly still..."

Dami looked, surprised that her sorting would be so informal, as Professor McGonagall retrieved a dilapidated old wizard's hat from a shelf above her desk.

Dami let out a small, nervous breath as the hat descended over her eyes. It was the only thing she'd at all been anxious about—her sorting. Her mother had been in Gryffindor, and her father in Ravenclaw—both very respectable indeed, and Dami, though not usually concerned with impressing her parents, did desperately want to live up to them in this one instant.

And then, quite suddenly, a voice spoke. Dami looked up, but Professor McGonagall was absorbed in the roster in front of her. Dami realized the hat was speaking to her.

"Where to put you?" it asked, in a throaty voice, "Ravenclaw, like your father, or Gryffindor, like your mother? Cleverness, yes, you possess that, as well as your fair share of bravery. But what about a different house? Not Hufflepuff, surely—though you are loyal enough. And what of Slytherin?"

Dami's stomach clenched. She recalled the stories her parents had told her— "Not a wizard gone bad hadn't been in Slytherin."

"Worried, are you?" questioned the hat, a hint of amusement in its voice, "But your ambition would do greatly in Slytherin. Don't be concerned—not every Slytherin has come out badly. So, how about it? Better be—SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted the last word to the small office, and McGonagall looked up in surprise. Her gaze turned cold the moment she looked at Dami.

"Slytherin, then, is it?" She plucked the hat from Dami's head, "Well, off you go to the feast." She shunted Dami from her office, murmuring, "Never would have guessed. But I suppose..." Her voice faded away as Dami shuffled down the corridor.

_Slytherin_. It couldn't be that bad, could it? Dami wasn't a bad person, she knew that. Maybe a troublemaker, maybe a bit standoffish, but not bad. She sighed.

Eventually, after a good fifteen minutes, by following the sounds of chattering voices, Dami reached a huge hall, with four sweeping tables perpendicular to another, shorter table. Nearly every seat was filled with an excited, gossiping student. Candles dotted the air, and the staff, at the head table, murmured among themselves.

Dami squeezed in through a door left ajar, and tried to go unnoticed as she decided which table was the Slytherins'. As the studied the students at each table, however, the familiar faces of Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the others found her. They waved, grinning. She smiled ruefully, and waved back. They wouldn't be in Slytherin, she knew. Luna, neither, who sat dreamily at the end of another table. That left two more tables to rule out—one, the students were grinning happily, enjoying the sight of their friends after such a long holiday. Dami knew that this wasn't her house, and turned to the only the table. She approached it, walking along it until she found an empty seat next to a tall, pale boy with brilliant blond hair.

He looked at her as she sat down.

"Who are you?" he asked, almost rudely.

"Dami Dietrich. I'm new. Transfer from the New York School for Magic in the good ol' U.S. of A. Who are you?" She countered, with equal rudeness, though slightly put off by the boy's less than warm welcome. He, however, smiled.

"Draco Malfoy. From the States, then? Are you American?"

"Nope," Dami said casually. She caught a glance of Ron and the others. They were throwing glances at her and murmuring to each other. She gritted her teeth slightly--judgment repulsed her.

She turned back to Draco, "I'm British, but my dad's head of the Department of International Wizarding Relations at the Ministry, so we've had to move a lot."

"Really?" replied Draco, almost lazily, "Well, welcome back to Britain and—" he gestured grandly to the table around him, "Welcome to Slytherin."

"Thanks," Dami replied, trying not to snort at his sense of grandeur.

As soon as she began to look around her, Dami noticed that Draco slumped in his seat slightly. He really was pale—was that even natural?

She disregarded it, and continued taking in everything around her.


	3. The Beginning of Change

_A/N: Chapter three up and running._

_Many thanks to my one faithful reader :] I appreciate it._

_We all know I don't own Harry Potter._

_And we also all know that I live off reviews!_

**Chapter 3: The Beginning of Change**

The feast was nearly finished. Dami glanced around the hall at the students, chattering sleepily. Everyone was much more somber after Dumbledore's grave speech regarding the current situation—everyone was aware of the stray dementors and frequent killings, and the reminder had a sobering effect.

As those around her finished the last mouthfuls of their pudding, Dami glanced up just in time to see a dark haired boy sit down with Ron and Hermione. Although she had never met him, she knew right away who he was—Harry Potter.

_So_, Dami thought, _Harry Potter_. She'd known he was at Hogwarts, and wondered when she would run into him. Countless times she had seen him in the Daily Profit, countless times his name had come up at the supper table. The varying accounts of him throughout the years made it impossible to know what he was really like—arrogant or humble, self-centered or martyr?

Next to her, Draco was laughing, miming something to his friends, glancing maliciously at Harry. Dami yawned. Honestly, she didn't care to know what was going on—she only had two more years of school before she would be out for good; there was no need to get caught up in silly schoolyard drama.

There was a great scraping and clattering as the students were dismissed. Dami got up, and wandered aimlessly from the hall. She figured she should follow Draco and the other Slytherins, but she didn't really feel like cloistering up in a dorm room right yet. She wasn't tired.

She caught a glimpse of two fiery heads some distance in front of her, and pushed her way through the crowd until she caught up with them.

"Hey," she said, slightly breathlessly. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and now Harry all stared at her. Ron looked slightly disgusted. Ginny looked mistrusting. Hermione looked concerned. No one said anything.

"Um, so," Dami broke the awkward silence and spoke to Ron and Hermione, "I was wondering if your offer still held? To, you know, show me around and everything?"

They looked hesitant.

"It is rather late," murmured Hermione.

"Oh, of course," Dami said hurriedly, "I didn't mean right now. I just meant, you know, in general. At some point. When you get a chance," she babbled, "I just have no idea where anything is in this place...maybe we can meet up tomorrow sometime?"

"Sure!" Hermione looked a little less concerned now, "Let's see what our schedules are tomorrow, and then when we have a break we'll give you a tour."

"Thanks," Dami smiled gratefully, "Well, g'night everyone."

"Good night," they chimed, "See you at breakfast."

As she turned away, she heard Ron say, "But she's in _Slytherin_," and Hermione reply, "You know, they're not all gits. This is a great opportunity for some inter-house bonding, like Dumbledore always wants."

Dami shook her head slightly, and realized she had no idea where to go. A constant flow of students has buffeted her out of the hall, and deposited her at the base of a huge staircase, but from there, students where breaking off into three directions—a crowd climbing the stairs, to the left and the right.

"Hey," she flagged down a brown haired boy a couple years younger than her, "Could you tell me where the Slytherin dormitories are?"

He ogled at her. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes self-consciously.

"Yeah, um..." He looked slightly nervous, and replied, "Down in the dungeons," pointing to stream of students making their way to the left of the marble staircase.

"Thanks, buddy," she winked at him, just for kicks, and followed the mass of students to the dungeons.

The air became cooler as they descended, and Dami's stomach clenched once more. She still couldn't get passed the fact that she was, indeed, a Slytherin. What did you say to your parents, who expect you to get placed in one of the _good_ houses, that you've been place in Slytherin instead? And then, there was also the fact that no one seemed to like the Slytherins. Dami may be brash and proud at some points, but she was generally tolerant of everyone and expected everyone to tolerate her—unless, of course, she gave them a good reason not to.

She arrived. There was a large hole in the stone wall, and students were climbing in one by one. Dami was dubious. A hole in the wall? Seriously? But she couldn't help but be impressed once she entered, by the green and silver hangings, lavish furniture and roaring fire. However, that was the last she was impressed.

As it turned out, her roommates were quite disagreeable. Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracy Davis were all rude, bossy and rather ugly. Dami had to remind herself several times that she _was_ tolerant of others, really, she was—but it was difficult to get ready for bed amongst the sneers and haughty giggles.

Rather right away, Pansy asked her, "So—Dami, is it?—are you pureblood, then?" Dami frowned imperceptibly.

"Yup," she replied casually, "Pure all the way. And you?" She raised her eyebrows at Pansy. She'd never really been fussed about blood. So what if someone was pure, half, or muggle born? All she cared about was if they were gits or not.

"Of course," Pansy replied, almost scathingly, but she was friendlier towards Dami after that.

Dami climbed in bed. She supposed it would take her ages to fall asleep—it nearly always did when she was in a new place—but sleep came quickly instead.

Dawn woke Dami with a streak of orange light breaking through the emerald hangings around her bed and falling directly across her eyes. She lay back on her pillows for a while, considering all that had unfolded in the last twenty four hours.

_Slytherin_, she thought. She still couldn't get passed the fact that _everyone _seemed to consider being in Slytherin meant you were a nasty, two-faced git—or something to that extent. What had the sorting hat said? Something about ambition? Probably.

For as long as she could remember, that's how people would describe her. Countless times she had heard people tell her parents, "Your Damina, she sure is ambitious." It had never had a negative connotation before; usually, it had to do with the course load she took on in school, or the various projects she attempted to tackle in her holidays. She was forever writing angry letters to politicians or newspaper editors, always pushing for change.

But it had never caused any harm. She had never done anything to constitute being placed in the house that turned out more dark wizards and witches than the other three combined.

Dami sighed, rolled over, and decided it was time to get up. Might as well have a quiet breakfast, before the horde of students come rushing down the marble staircase and interrupting her thoughts.


	4. The Day Begins

_A/N:_

_Yeah, so I take ridiculously long breaks in between chapters. Oops. Apologies. _

_Anyways, enjoy :]_

**Chapter 4: The Day Begins**

The Great Hall was nearly deserted when Dami arrived, but the four long house tables were already laden with a variety of dishes. The hall looked different than the night before, without the candles hanging in midair, chattering students and head table full of teachers. She noticed the blond boy from the night before—what was his name? Something with a D, she remembered that—Damien? Dragomere?—sitting alone at the far end of the Slytherin table.

"Morning," Dami said, cheerily enough, as she sat next to him. He looked up in surprise and irritation. His face changed slightly when he saw her, into an expression that was a little more forgiving.

"Oh. Hello. Good morning." He looked back at the piece of toast on his plate, a half-hearted bite missing, but otherwise untouched. Dami served herself some porridge before reaching for some toast and an apple.

"So," she said, her mouth full, "How does this work, then? How do I know what classes to go to and such?" The boy—what _was_ his name?—looked up again, slightly surprised she was still talking to him.

"We get our schedules in a bit. Snape—he's head of house—will help you with your schedule, but I guess it will be a bit funny for you, since you didn't take your O.W.L.s. Or did you?"

"Yeah, I did, actually," Dami told him, taking a noisy bite from her apple, "They're universal; they were a big deal at every school I've been to, but I didn't really think they were too bad, did you?"

He slowly picked up his toast, as though he was unsure of whether or not he wanted it.

"I suppose not," he replied, "How many schools have you been to, anyway?"

"Oh quite a lot," Dami told him, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring cream and sugar into it, "I started out in Greece, but we went to Italy partway through my second year. Then we moved to Bulgaria, then Finland, then Turkey. Then, near the end of my fourth year we moved to the States, and we stayed there until just a couple weeks ago. So I guess this is my seventh school."

"Well," he said, but didn't seem to have anything to say after that.

The Great Hall was slowly filling up, growing louder and louder as students filtered in and began to catch up after their summer holidays. Dami glanced up at the head table, and saw Dumbledore, along with an array of other teachers.

"Dami! Hi!" A breathless voice came from behind her. Dami turned and saw Hermione, the Gryffindor prefect, standing awkwardly between the tables. The Slytherins around them glared and hissed in disapproval.

"Oh, hi!" Dami greeted her cheerily, "Morning! How are you?"

"I'm not bad, thanks," Hermione smiled, still looking nervous and awkward, "I was just thinking, um, that once you've got your course schedule and everything, we could compare and see when we have free periods together. Then, you know, we could give you a tour or something."

"Great, thanks!" said Dami, "That sounds great, really nice of you."

"No problem," Hermione replied, smiling, "I'll just be…" she gestured self-consciously to the Gryffindor table. Dami nodded, and she left. Immediately, the blond boy began to speak.

"Really, Hermione Granger? Honestly, Damina, you could do much better than that. She's a moodblood, she's filth. Don't hang around with sorts like her." His voice was scathing, cold, and his face was twisted into a look of haughty disgust.

The anger that had visited her the night before in the dormitory enveloped Dami once again. Why did the Slytherins seem so obsessed about blood status? In New York, witches had judged each other by the hairstyle and shoe choice, and wizards scorned the scrawny. No one cared if you were pure or muggle or mixed; most, in fact, were mixed. Why did blood matter so much to the Slytherins? And _why_ was Dami a Slytherin?

"Damina Dietrich," a slow drawl caught her attention. She looked up. Standing above her was a rather unpleasant man with stringy black hair wavering around his pallid cheeks. Small, beady black eyes studied her from over a long hooked nose. Dami sat a little straighter in her seat, not to be intimidated by this sinister looking professor.

"I am Professor Snape, head of Slytherin and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." His voice was deliberate and slow, yet clipped. He rarely blinked.

Dami stuck out her hand, "Dami Dietrich, pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," She smiled winningly, continually attempting to apply her theory of general kindness and respect.

Snape did not shake her hand, nor did he smile back; he simply continued to eye her from atop his greasy curling nose.

"Now," he told her at last, "Do you have your O.W.L results with you? I shall need to verify your scores before I can arrange your schedule."

"Oh yeah, one moment," She said hurriedly, bending over to rummage quickly through the mess of her bag, "Here we go," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She was rather proud of her results: three O's, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Studies, and Potions, just one A in Arithmency, and the rest E's—not a single failing grade.

Dami thought she saw Snapes eyebrows rise slightly as he poured over her results, but she could have been mistaken.

"Very well," he said curtly, "You cannot take N.E.W.T level Arithmency as that requires an Exceeds Expectations at the very least, but you have the scores to take any other classes you would like." He seemed to say this reluctantly.

"Brilliant!" Dami replied, "Well, Potions, please. My favorite class, I couldn't pass that one by. And Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies as well, and I suppose Transfiguration or else my mum will kill me. And Astronomy, please. Is that enough? How many should I take? I suppose I should take Charms as well, shouldn't I? Is six too many?"

The thought of her studies excited Dami; she couldn't wait to get to classes. Snape stared at her, a slight look of distaste encroaching on his face.

"Six is fine," he said slowly, "Sixth year students typically take five, but a sixth class is often taken by more ambitious students." He waved a black wand over a thick piece of parchment and handed it to her. "I look forward to having you in my class this afternoon," he said, though she greatly doubted his sincerity. He left.

Dami gazed greedily at her course schedule. Her day started with double Charms, and then Potions before lunch. In the afternoon, as Snape had mentioned, she had double Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't too excited about Charms; it always seemed to frivolous that she rarely tried hard or put any effort in, but at least it was rather simple. Potions, however, was her favorite subject. She excelled at it wherever she went, but more importantly, she was passionate about it. Something about the way that mixing perfect combinations of simple, useless ingredients could make an incredibly useful brew fascinated her.

Her breakfast finished, she headed over to the Gryffindor table to compare schedules with Hermione and the others.

"Morning!" She said brightly, scooting into a seat between Hermione and a scandalized Ron, "I've just got my course schedule, have you got yours yet?"

At least a dozen people in the seats surrounding them were staring at Dami. Slightly self-conscious, though in no way ashamed, she whispered loudly to Hermione, "Why are they all staring? Have I got porridge on my face or something?"

Hermione blushed slightly, "No, no, it's just… well I don't think they're used to um… transfer students, you know?" She explained rather clumsily.

"Not used to _Slytherins_ sitting at _our_ table, more like," someone in the vicinity said in a carrying whisper. Dami felt her cheeks turn hot, but refused to let the comment deter her. She was really beginning to despise this whole house system they had at Hogwarts.

"Um, well, anyways," Hermione said quickly, pulling out her course schedule, "I haven't got a free period until after Potions this afternoon, so maybe we could show you around after that? We could just meet back here—"

"Oh, I'm in Potions too," Dami said cheerily, "We can just go straight from there."

"Brilliant," Hermione breathed, "Well, I've got to get to Arithmancy, but I'll see you later!" She left the table, her nose already buried deep in her Arithmancy book.

Dami sat awkwardly for a moment, incredibly self-conscious that her only real ally at the Gryffindor table had just left. The tension around her was palpable. Finally, aware of the time and the fact that she had no idea where the Charms classroom was, she turned to Ron.

"Hey." He looked up, blushing around his freckles and working hard to keep a pleasant expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could show me where the Charms class is? If it's not a problem or anything? I just have no idea where anything is in this place."

"Of course," Ron replied, though he looked less than eager, "Come on, we'd better go then, it's nearly time." They got up from the table, and Harry Potter followed them.

"I'll meet you in the common room, then?" He asked Ron, who nodded his agreement. Dami watched as he ascended the marble staircase in front of them, wondering who this boy—this boy who was the catalyst for so many events in the last fifteen years of magical history—really was.


End file.
